The ugliness in me sticks to the skin of my body.
I take a piece of broken glass and try to scrape it off;
Crumps of me fall in reverend circles within my shadow.
I am there in every business-man and modern executive.
Scores of me chant salutation to wired knowledge.
I lean below to see myself within four legs of breath,
My soul has surpassed them with labels of idiocy and uncleanness.
The image of branded shirts and crisp trousers
Do not grow well on domisticated life;
For leather ties give them names and castes,
That do not cater to be called sensible.
They are the unsung lives of lives loudly sung.
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